A Moment
by Clair de Lune - ITML
Summary: The line separating common sense from craziness is sometimes fine: actually, it’s only a matter of seconds. Nothing more. Slash Michael/Lincoln.


Title: A Moment  
Characters: Michael/Lincoln  
Category: Slash  
Rating: R  
Warning: Incest  
Author's Note: Initialy written during the second season of the show, but let's say this is set post-escape, whenever you want. Thanks to MystressXOXO for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Michael blinks and lets the pillows swallow him down, torn between proper astonishment and inappropriate laughter. The line separating common sense from craziness is sometimes fine: actually, it's only a matter of seconds. Nothing more. One moment, Linc and he are talking, and the next...

oOo

One second, he's talking with Lincoln, quietly, softly. Between two sentences, they get closer to one another without totally realizing they do, and Linc hugs him. A rough yet affectionate hug like the dozen he's given him along the years. A bit awkward, because they're adults now, and adult men don't hug without a good reason. They have one, though; they have several reasons since they're alive and free.

The next second, Linc pushes him down across the bed, and with a disconcerting ease, he kisses him – kisses his eyelids, down his cheeks, his lips. Nothing about this is familiar anymore. Michael tells himself that something – a detail, a word in their conversation or maybe a gesture – had elicited _that_, but he couldn't say what it was even if his life was at stake. He kind of realizes that he should do something, anything but enjoy the feeling, but he can't come up with enough judgment to act on it. Enough judgment or willpower for that matter.

He thinks what Linc meant to convey between the moment they were talking and the moment he started to do _that_ was just 'thank you' and 'you're the craziest brother someone can have' or maybe also 'I won't ever let you down again'. Simple words even for Linc who's never been especially eloquent. But they remain unspoken. _What is well-conceived is clearly expressed_, Michael thinks, and jeez, Linc has to perfectly conceive what he means because his way to express it is crystal clear. Inappropriate but clear. Not unwelcome enough so that Michael tries to back off, though: he doesn't have the willpower to decline the proffered thanks and promises, no matter how outrageous they come out.

Lincoln's mouth leaves his, slides down his jaw line and to his neck. Warm breath sweeps over his skin, and Michael lies there, still for a few seconds, before his hands start to move and find Linc's nape. They press, clench and clasp as Michael tilts his head to the side to offer more skin. Linc takes what's proposed, licking, lightly biting the flesh, and smiling when his kisses elicit a shiver.

Michael closes his eyes and lets Lincoln take him. Gives himself. Admonishes himself for this thought because it implies that Linc wants something and that Michael grants it to him. Whereas, if he trusts their respective reactions, the desire couldn't be more mutual. He waits for the gag reflex, the lead cloak that should fall upon him, the gut feeling ordering him to pull back. After a few seconds, it becomes obvious he's waiting in vain. He just wants to hold Linc close to him, closer and closer. He curls his fingers around the back of his brother's skull and revels in the feeling of the short stubble prickling the palm of his hands.

When Lincoln realizes what they're doing and tries to move away, Michael drags him back into the embrace. What he wants to reply is, 'I owed you', and 'You're quite something too', and also 'I'll trust you from now on'. But it doesn't quite happen as he imagined. It translates with his lips pressing feverishly against Linc's and his hands sliding down and down. He explores, torn between surprise, fascination and curiosity, a bit disconcerted by how fast they get carried away and how everything spins out of control. Because everything does spin out of control, neither of them able to get a hold on it. Linc lets him do whatever he wants, even encourages him by rolling on his back and settling more comfortably on the bed. There is no possible ambiguity about what he's expecting. Breathing hard, his eyebrows knitted together because of concentration, Michael lifts, opens and pushes clothes up and aside, his mouth trailing after his hands. He tries to memorize every taste, odor and feel in the increasing illusory eventuality that everything will stop suddenly, and in the probable perspective that none of it will happen again. Because it can't happen again, can it? Not that he wants it to. It's one of those things that come out of nowhere and are going nowhere. Just a short moment borrowed in good sense, fleeting and fragile, even more precious because it _can't_ happen again. His fingers brush the skin of Linc' stomach – the muscles flinch in a really interesting way beneath his touch – and fiddle with the belt buckle. There is a metallic rattle. And another one that has Linc turning red; he turns red but mumbles his approval and grabs Michael's hips to haul his brother right against him.

"I've never done that."

It's Linc who speaks the first words since they've switched to a morally reprehensible mode of communication. His voice is low and urgent, scattering the silence in the small room, and Michael raises his head. It has to be the excess of oxygen – he's almost hyperventilating – or adrenaline or God knows what, but he feels confident enough to look Lincoln in the eye and throw with a smirk, "Having sex with your brother? I know. I think I'd remember something like that."

Lincoln retaliates with a sloppy kiss to his neck, which makes blood and what was left of his ability to reason flow out of his brain. He fights with a bit more of impatience against the leather of the belt and the couple of buttons still closed on Linc's shirt.

"You know what I mean," Linc says with a scowl.

"Yes."

He watches as Lincoln rids him of his shirt and negligently lets it fall to the floor. He opens his eyes wide and purses hips lips to keep from laughing because of how absurd the whole thing feels; his heart beats way too loudly in his chest. Then, Linc's hands are all over him, opening his pants, fast and possessive, and he doesn't feel like laughing or thinking about how incongruous this is anymore. His jeans slide down his legs and are kicked off the bed. With a small smile, Linc bows down, and Michael lets slip a first, "Oh..." then a second one when the caresses become more precise.

They're quickly followed with a surprised, "Like that?" and Linc stops short to cast him an indefinable glance.

"You mind?"

Michael opens his mouth and closes it a few times, not actually saying anything. He doesn't know whether Linc eventually takes pity on him or grows exasperated by his silence, but his brother shakes his head and says, "Let's not... you know..."

"... comment on what we do?"

"Yeah."

If he thought about it more than a split second, he'd wondered – aside from judging that what they're doing is more inconceivable than anything he's accomplished until now – how they will cope with the situation and its consequences, later. But for the first time in days, in months, neither of them actually worry about what's going to happen or will have to be done, tomorrow. Linc doesn't hesitate, doesn't second guess, doesn't ask him if he's sure, if this is really what he wants, what they want. Michael's grateful for that. Shared and implicit certitude is the only viable option: this is really not the kind of event he wants to ponder until the end of his life, wondering if one of them influenced the other one even the slightest bit.

"No remorse, no regret, Mike," Linc murmurs, his lips brushing Michael's skin with each word. Michael nods his consent and fights the impulse to draw, with the tip of his fingers, a cross on his heart to seal the promise.

He pulls the sheets over their heads and isolates the two of them from reality. Linc has a smile that morphs into a part impatient, part relieved sigh, and suddenly, all Michael wants is to know what other sounds and unbridled moves he can wrench from him. He feels like he's toppling, sliding, free-falling, and Linc catches him, with a hand on the nape of his neck and the other on the small of his back. It's weird, it's everything and its opposite – awkward and easy, confused and drama-free, intense and light.

oOo

One second, he's talking with Lincoln, quietly, softly. The next second, he's closing his arms around him and hugging him tightly, the words superfluous.

-FIN-


End file.
